


Good Game (and a Helluva Thank-You)

by AetherSeer



Series: Locker Room Rewards [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 02:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10687830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherSeer/pseuds/AetherSeer
Summary: Backy’s standing in front of him; Holts standing just behind Backy to the side. Backy’s eyes are calm and serious. “Holts wants to thank you for that save.”Oh. Okay. Tom opens his mouth to say “No problem” or something similar when Holts steps up between Tom’s spread thighs and drops to his knees.Now Backy’s lips twitch again, in what Tom recognizes as a smile. “Properly,” he adds.





	Good Game (and a Helluva Thank-You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [somethingnerdythiswaycomes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingnerdythiswaycomes/gifts).



Backy and Ovi usually handle the media after the game, but the press ambushes Tom after his shower. He answers their questions as best he can, towel catching the worst of the water dripping from his hair.

He tries to keep to the script, the main talking points, and probably does all right. The lady reporter focuses in on his save in the crease, so Tom tries to give her a good answer.

“You know those plays kinda go in slow-mo. I could see it sitting on his pants and I knew—the shape of the puck—it’s gonna fall down, so … it was falling behind him and I just kinda had time to jump in and try and make a save there.”

He’ll have to watch the highlight later—find the video and send it to Latts, maybe. The press eventually get what they need and go to interview the other guys, leaving Tom to finish scruffing the towel over his hair before jamming a hat over it and packing up his bag for the flight.

Across the room, Holts and Ovi and Backy are all handling their own press scrums. Backy catches his eye after one question and raises an eyebrow. Tom shrugs, not sure what the question is. Backy’s lips twitch, but he refocuses his attention on the reporters.  
  


After the media has left, Tom’s still sitting in his stall. His face hurts from grinning, and he’ll have new bruises tomorrow, but the pain fades in the face of his team’s tired jubilation. They’ve tied the series. Again. And better yet, the team’s headed home to D.C., to face the Leafs again on home ice.

He closes his eyes for a minute, replaying his second goal of the night in his mind. Someone taps his shoulder.

Tom opens his eyes slowly. Backy’s standing in front of him; Holts standing just behind Backy to the side. Backy’s eyes are calm and serious. “Holts wants to thank you for that save.”

Oh. Okay. Tom opens his mouth to say “No problem” or something similar when Holts steps up between Tom’s spread thighs and drops to his knees.

Now Backy’s lips twitch again, in what Tom recognizes as a smile. “Properly,” he adds.

Tom blinks at him blankly, then turns his attention to the goalie kneeling in front of him. “Holts?” he questions.

Holts—Braden, he corrects, since the guy’s on his knees for him in the middle of the Air Canada visitors locker room—looks up at him and nods.

Tom inhales sharply and looks around the room. Ovi’s loudly recounting some story to a laughing Schmidty, Burky happily leaning off his captain’s right shoulder. Other guys are wandering in and out of the showers; Osh is peeling tape off his stick a few stalls over.

Tom looks at Backy, who’s watching him with that calm, inscrutable gaze, and drops his eyes back down to Braden, patiently waiting for the okay.

Tom gives it to him.

Braden’s fingers curl around the waistband of Tom’s sweats and rest there before Tom jolts into gear and lifts his ass to help. His sweats—and shorts—puddle in a heap on the floor when he kicks them off. Braden shuffles forward on his knees, broad shoulders spreading Tom’s thighs a bit wider.

Tom swallows hard when Braden’s hand wraps around the base of his cock which, while not hard, is definitely showing a bit of interest and chubbing up. Braden leans in and licks a stripe up the underside, adjusting his grip as he goes. Tom jerks a little, and catches Backy’s eyes. Backy raises an eyebrow—Braden closes his lips around the head and sucks—and Tom groans. He’s definitely getting harder.

Backy’s still waiting for an answer, so Tom tries. “I’m—uh, that’s really—I’m used to being on the other side? Of this?”

That seems to be an acceptable answer, because Backy just tips his head in Ovi’s direction and pats Tom’s shoulder before leaving. The room is still half-full of guys, but only Osh seems to have noticed Braden leaning over Tom’s lap so far. He gives Tom a grin and a thumbs-up, which Tom returns before focusing back on the man kneeling in front of him.

Tom’s not sure what to do with his hands, to be honest. Latts, on the rare occasions he blew Tom, didn’t like his hair pulled. Tom decides to go for it and slides one hand into Braden’s hair, coming to rest at the back of his neck. Braden’s mouth sinks lower and his hand tightens on Tom’s hip.

Tom tugs gently, and Braden looks up at him, eyes dark. Tom tugs again and gets a moan for his efforts, which feels—damn. Braden swallows around him and when did Tom slide down on the bench? Braden’s got most of Tom’s cock in his mouth, which … is kinda impressive. Braden adjusts his position, shifting on his knees, and breathes deep.

Tom has to close his eyes. Soft, wet heat surrounds his cock, and Braden’s throat is … Tom doesn’t have words for that. “Oh, god,” he chokes out.

His free hand, the one not tangled in Braden’s hair, gropes blindly for something to hold onto. He gets it in the form of someone’s thigh. He glances over.

_When did Backy get back here?_

It doesn’t matter, though, because Backy’s started a murmured string of praise, and Tom’s lost in the sensation. Braden swallowing him down, Backy telling him how much Braden wanted to thank him for doing his job well and helping the team, and—

Tom’s muscles clench and his back arches. His hands tighten, leaving bruises on Backy’s thigh and dragging Braden further down on his cock, far enough that Braden maybe can’t breathe. He lets go as soon as he remembers that, and Braden sits back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His face is flushed, lips red and used. He looks … he looks like a wet dream, if Tom’s being honest.

He’s hard, too, and Tom attempts to sit up. Backy snorts and pushes him back down. “We’ve got him.”

We? Oh, Ovi’s here too, and eyeing Braden appreciatively. “We show how much we appreciate goalie, yes? Come. Nicky and me, we’ll take care of you.”

They head to the showers and Tom just breathes for a moment before remembering that his dick’s hanging out in the middle of the locker room. He wipes off the spit and spunk on his towel and pulls his clothes back on.

Osh slides into the stall next to him. He grins at Tom. “Good game.”

Tom huffs a laugh. Yeah, good game. Two goals, an awesome save, and a helluva thank-you from his goalie.  
  


Trotz commands the team’s attention when he comes in the room, ordering a “wheels up” in a half-hour. Tom grimaces, but he’s mostly packed already. And the sooner they get home, the sooner he can sleep. And hey, if he wakes up before his alarm, he definitely has new jerk-off material.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in the Hockey RPF fandom. It's also the first fic I've written in at least ten years.
> 
> Please forgive any mistakes, and let me know if you find typos so I can correct them.


End file.
